


The Rose and the Viper

by sir_red



Series: Game of Vipers [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_red/pseuds/sir_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As hot as Loras and Olyver’s interactions were in Season 3 I found myself wondering about Loras’ mental state. Here is my thoughts on that followed, of course, by unrepentant filth!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose and the Viper

Loras Tyrell was having a good day. That was becoming increasingly rare since he had lost Renly. The shadow of depression which could, at times, overwhelm him was gone for the moment. 

The shadow had a tendency to sneak up on him at the strangest moments. 

Rage. Grief. Sorrow. 

All visited him like old friends, coming to call at inappropriate times. 

It was a rare day that his head was empty of the shadow. It was a rare day that the sun shone on his soul and kept him warm. 

The Stark’s said “Winter is Coming”. For Loras Winter had long since come and covered everything in cold and darkness. 

There were a few places he could escape when the pain threatened to overwhelm him. 

He retreated at times into violence, searching for solace in combat, in the to and fro of melee or the controlled precision of the joust. But his rage would fade and he would be left alone. 

He retreated at times into other lovers, searching for peace in other men. But his passion would fade and he would be left alone. 

Olyver had stalked him all day. Loras Tyrell was no fool. He knew that the boy was a whore and probably in the employ of one of his family’s enemies. However he was not oblivious, everyone at Court knew what he was, knew what he wanted. If people were going to mock him he might as well enjoy himself while they did. 

Loras had been with the whore once before. It hadn’t even occurred to him until they were done fucking that the whore was low-born. Loras found he didn’t care. After all, if Robert Baratheon had fucked half the girls in Flea Bottom he didn’t see why he shouldn’t make his way through the boys. 

Still something about paying for sex put him ill at ease. Loras was, at heart, a romantic. Paying for sex flew in the heart of his notions of romantic love.

“My lord,” Olyver greeted Loras. 

The whore was waiting for him at his chamber door. He was dressed as a page boy. 

“Where did you find that costume?” Loras asked him, amused. 

“But I am a page,” Olyver said, as though affronted. 

Loras raised an eyebrow.

“I stole it,” Olyver admitted after a moment.

“That’s terribly naughty of you,” Loras told him seriously, “you know what happens to naughty boys who dress up as pages?”

“The other pages take their turn fucking them up the arse?” Olyver suggested innocently.

Loras looked around side to side, mortified.

“I was going to say they are punished,” a scarlet faced Loras told him after a moment.

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Olyver said delicately, “how shall I ever face those page boys again…?” 

“…you didn’t actually let anybody else….touch you,” Loras asked the boy, he found his throat actually seemed to seize shut at the word “touch”. 

“I’m a whore, Loras,” Olyver told him gently, “of course I did.” 

“Well…” Loras said thoughtfully, “I suppose I really do have to spank you then.”

“I thought you would never ask my lord,” Olyver told him slyly, pushing open Loras’ chamber door with his heel. 

The whore was soon naked and bent over his bed. Loras had every intention of taking his time to open the boy up but he found that it had simply been too long. 

Before he had even finished lowering his trousers he was ready to burst. A single thrust later and his seed was spent, more on the boy’s thigh than inside of him. 

“It’s alright my lord,” the whore said to him consolingly, “you’re not the first, you won’t be the last.”

“I’ve always sought to be the first,” Loras said self-deprecatingly, and strode over to sit down on a chair opposite the whore. 

The whore wandered over and poured himself some wine. 

“You’re self-assured for one who is low born,” Loras observed amused at the whore’s cheek. 

“What makes you think I am low born?” Olyver asked him curiously.

Loras looked embarrassed.

“It’s just you’re a…” Loras began.

“…a whore?” Olyver suggested. 

“Yes,” Loras said, red faced again, “you have me all flustered when I should be in command.”

“That’s because of the battlefield,” Olyver explained, naked and unashamed he sat opposite Loras on the edge of the bed. 

“If you send a crossbowman to fight on horseback, you will be sorely disappointed.

“You might be a great soldier my lord, but this is my battlefield, here I am the Captain.” 

“What then does my Captain command?” Loras asked sardonically. 

Olyver looked at him curiously.

“Oh I doubt you’d be interested in playing that game,” he said after a moment, taking another swallow of his wine. 

“Are you calling me craven?” Loras challenged.

Olyver smiled.

“Remove you clothing,” Olyver commanded. 

Loras looked down at himself. He had always been bemused at the attention women, and some men, showed him. He had never really thought himself attractive, his excess and pageantry weren’t part of the real Loras. The real Loras was a man that only Renly had known. The true Loras was a very different man to the Knight of Flowers.

Loras stood up and finished removing his trousers, previously having only unlaced them. Then he took of his trousers, his shirt and, after a moment, his boots. He stood before Olyver as naked as the day he was born. 

“Lay down on the bed,” Olyver commanded, standing to make way for the young Knight. 

Loras looked at him amused and walked over to the bed to comply.

“Face down,” Olyver commanded.

Loras looked at him nervously and then complied. 

“I promise you’ll enjoy this,” Olyver whispered in his ear, “more than you can bear.” 

The boy wandered over to a jute sack he had dumped by the bed and opened it, removing a series of leather straps. 

“What are you doing?” Loras asked nervously.

Olyver turned and raised his eyebrow.

“What are you doing, my lord,” Loras corrected himself. 

“Restraining you,” Olyver said calmly and wandered over to Loras. He sat down on Loras back.

The contact of naked flesh against Loras was like fire on his skin. 

“You go too far,” Loras breathed heavily, “I’m not…”

Loras protested but he found himself limply allowing the whore to bind his hands to his bed post and then to the end of his bed.

He struggled for a moment but the restraints were quite tight. They were a loop that went around the wrists and ankles and tightened, the more they struggled the tighter they got.

“You’ve done this before,” Loras accused the whore.

Olyver gave him a flat look. 

“Before I go on,” Olyver said speaking to Loras, “I feel I should apologise.”

“For taking my money?” Loras asked, amused.

“No, I’m a whore that’s what we do,” Olyver told him, “though I would point out I work quite hard for my living, unlike you.”

“I fight,” Loras protested angrily.

“You fight because you enjoy it,” Olyver told him mockingly, but without heat, “you lords play your Game of Thrones because you choose to, not because you have to.

“You’ve never had to do an honest day’s work in your life.” 

Loras squirmed uncomfortably suddenly aware of how very vulnerable he was before the whore.

“That being said you’ve been nothing but kind to me,” Olyver said sounding sad, “I think we might have actually been friends in a world where such a thing was possible.”

“What are you talking about Olyver?” Loras demanded, “don’t do something you’re going to regret here, my family are…”

“Liars and thieves,” a voice spoke from the other side of the room, “thugs and monsters.” 

The voice was strangely accented, it was…Dornish.

Loras turned. The dark haired, almond skinned man that stood behind Olyver wasn’t anyone he knew in person, though he knew his reputation. 

“Olyver, why have you done this?” Loras said to the whore.

“Because I told him to,” Oberyn Martell told Loras Tyrell, “I own the boy and he does whatever I tell him.”

“What are you going to do?” Loras asked Oberyn nervously, fidgeting at his restraints.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Oberyn told him, “I’m going to fuck you and use you in every way that demeans and weakens you.

“I’m going to visit on your body a small part of the shame that the Tyrell’s have visited upon the Martell’s. 

“I’m going to break you.”

The tears began to run from Loras’ eyes as the Dornishman began to remove his clothing.


End file.
